


oh, but never leave

by kimaracretak



Category: The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Body Worship, F/F, Fluff, Tattoos, Writing on Skin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-02 01:04:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20267497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimaracretak/pseuds/kimaracretak
Summary: In full Shu military dress uniform, her ceremonial sword heavy at her hip and several distinctly more utilitarian knives in her boots and sleeves and pockets, Tamar feels … overdressed. Solid. Boring, almost, except no one could be around Nadia for long these days and feelboring.[ Tamar and Nadia, after the war. ]





	oh, but never leave

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starforged](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starforged/gifts).

> To be there with all you need  
And nothing left to prove  
Take a chance, _oh, but never leave_  
Know it all starts with you  
— 'No Bitter End', Tarja
> 
> Love to Nat for the beta

Nadia is radiant in blue and white, the swirls of colour across the thin silk of her dress giving her the illusion of floating slightly above the ground as she twirls through the small front room. With each turn she skips over the shadow she casts in the warm gold light of the setting sun, like a bird that doesn't know how to land.

Of course, knowing her wife - her wife! Tamar is never going to tire of thinking of Nadia so - it's entirely probable that she is, in fact, not touching the floor. Air bends around her at a thought, at the wave of a hand or a flutter of her eyelashes, and she lifts everyone with her.

In full Shu military dress uniform, her ceremonial sword heavy at her hip and several distinctly more utilitarian knives in her boots and sleeves and pockets, Tamar feels … overdressed. Solid. _Boring_, almost, except no one could be around Nadia for long these days and feel _boring_. Freed of the constraints of army life she's started to come alive again, and every time Tamar looks at her she feels her heart rise as if it wishes to break free of the simple confines of her skin and soar away.

She has never had a heart before, but somewhere along the long road to the Darkling's defeat, Nadia took up residence in the hollow of her chest. Tamar carries Nadia with her on every journey now, and cannot imagine fighting any other way.

Nadia catches sight of her halfway through a spin and immediately runs to Tamar to fling her arms around her neck and kiss her, long and deep and with an edge of desperation that time has not managed to wholly erase. And when their need for air overrides their need for the taste of the other's lips, her wife kisses her again and again between breaths, slides her tongue against Tamar's and nips gently at her lips every time she pulls away for the slightest moment. No longer do they have to fear that every look, every kiss, every touch might be the last, but work still keeps them apart for longer than either of them would like.

But Tamar gets to imagine that every brush of the wind against her lips, every spark of storm energy that dances across her skin is a message from Nadia, and when she returns home - oh, those are the best of days.

"Do you have new ink?" Nadia asks breathlessly when she's finally pulled Tamar over to the couch and laid down with her head in her lap.

Tamar tries her hardest to keep her smile off her face as she pulls a small vial from inside the reinforced pouch at her hip. The ink inside is a shifting blue-grey that reflects Nadia's eyes, and it gently slopes from side to side as Nadia sits up and tilts the bottle in the light. "Fjerdan?" she asks, and Tamar nods. "I thought so. It looks as if they've trapped ice crystals .... but you know that wasn't what I meant." Her gaze sharpens, fixes one more on Tamar's face.

Tamar assumes a look of absolute innocence. "It was?"

Nadia scowls, and Tamar acquiesces to the unspoken demand, stands and slowly begins to divest herself of sword, knives, and armour. She has not mastered the art of making stripping a dance, not like her wife, but she has learned that simply by moving slowly and keeping her eyes on Nadia, she can draw a flush to her wife's cheeks and moans from her lips, all without touching her with hand or with Grisha sense.

And indeed, she's not even down to her second to last layer before Nadia is squirming in anticipation, her cheeks pink and her eyes sparkling. Tamar can imagine her excitement - can sense it, even, Nadia's heartbeat echoing double with Tamar's own in the hollow of her throat. She can feel her wife's gaze on her, tracing every sweeping arch and curl of ink, looking for something new.

She doesn't find it until Tamar has done away with both breastband and smallclothes: a twist of blue across the curve of her hip: a gust of wind, half a wing, _Nadia_. Tamar hardly has time to see recognition dawn in Nadia's eyes before she's pushed back against the arm of the couch, Nadia on top of her, the silk and air and heat of her wife's body bringing sharp awareness of her own arousal, too long heightened by separation, to the fore.

"You," Nadia breathes, and Tamar looks at her, a beautiful storm hardly contained by one of the most beautiful bodies she's ever seen, and _wants_.

"Me," she says with a smile. "And you."

Nadia slides down her body to press her lips to the tattoo, and the sensation of silk against her skin has Tamar biting back a groan.

"Absolutely not," Nadia says, her voice muffled by how her face is buried in the crease of Tamar's hip, but Tamar can feel the vibration of her laughter anyway. "Three weeks you've been gone, I want to hear you."

Of the two of them, it's usually Nadia who's loud in the bedroom - something that was a constant source of embarrassed amusement when they were on the road, but something that Tamar has delighted in pushing to its extreme now that they're married with a house of their own.

So she obliges: Nadia kisses the tip of the wing with an open mouth and Tamar exhales shakily, the heat of her wife's mouth amplifying the growing heat in her cunt. Nadia nips at the tattoo, laves away the sting with her eager tongue, and Tamar groans.

"Three weeks I've been gone, and all you do is tease." She tangles her hand in Nadia's silky blonde hair, admires the way it spills over her own darker skin, and resists the urge to to tug Nadia's mouth to her cunt.

"I missed you," Nadia says simply, dotting infuriatingly lazy kisses over Tamar's inner thigh. She's still fully dressed, and as much as Tamar wants to let Nadia take her time, explore every inch of Tamar's skin with a concentration equal to that of the battlefield and much more pleasant, it has also been three weeks since she's seen her.

"Nadia," she groans, and her wife rewards the sound by pressing the hand not busy holding Tamar down to her cunt. She makes a soft sound of surprise when she realises how wet she is, and Tamar laughs. "The things the sight of you can do," she murmurs, and the last words are lost as Nadia replaces her hand with her eager mouth, lips brushing too lightly against Tamar's clit.

"Gonna do so many things to you," Nadia mutters. She circles Tamar's clit slowly, gently, and Tamar tenses in anticipation of a change, a storm. Nadia's finger presses inside, quick and firm, and Tamar groans in delight.

She sinks back into the couch cushions as Nadia fucks her quick yet gentle, unsure what she most wants to focus on: the feeling of Nadia's inside her, stretching her, making her feel a part of something again; the rhythmic tap of Nadia's other hand against her hips, a melody like rain; the silk of Nadia's dress cool against her rapidly overheating skin, the taste of Nadia's mouth, bright sugared chai as she leans up to kiss Tamar once more.

She settles for all of them and none, eyelids falling shut as she lets the sensations overwhelm her, swept up in the whirlwind that is her wife and how she knows exactly where to touch, exactly how to twist her fingers, exactly how to press her tongue to Tamar's clit like a bolt of lightning that sends such a shock of pleasure through her body that she nearly sits upright with the force of it.

"Better," Tamar says, cupping the soft weight of Nadia's breasts in her hands. She runs her thumbs over pale pink nipples, appreciating the texture as they tighten under her skin. Nadia hums in contentment, her head tipping back as Tamar dips her own to taste. Sweat is beading on Nadia's skin and she tastes like summer air after too long in the cold, like _life_.

Nadia mutters vague encouragements as she laces her fingers through Tamar's hair to hold her close. "Do that for another three weeks and I might forgive you for running off," she says, with what Tamar is sure is an insufferable grin.

She nips a little at Nadia's skin, and gives a smile of her own as Nadia hisses. She has absolutely no intention of giving Nadia what she wants too quickly: three weeks, and she's going to reacquaint herself with every inch of Nadia's skin bit by bit. Tamar switches her attention to Nadia's other breast, luxuriating in the feeling of Nadia's body against hers.

Nadia's _unmarked_ body. Tamar glances down at the bottle of ink, untouched on the floor. She has no brushes, but she has plenty of time and, more importantly, plenty more bottles in the bag that she left somewhere by the door. "Lie back," she says. "I want to try something."

Nadia blinks back to awareness, confusion clouding her eyes for a moment before Tamar picks up the ink. "Oh yes please," she gasps, and nearly pounces forward, knocking Tamar back and rolling them both over in one smooth motion. Tamar can't resist leaning in for another long kiss, tasting herself, now, amidst the fading spice of chai.

As happy as she would be to lie kissing Nadia forever, she reminds herself that she has other plans. The ink bottle uncorks easily, and Nadia yelps as the cold ink hits her skin, pooling across her abdomen.

"Gorgeous," Tamar murmurs. She dips a finger in the shimmering blue and it's like running her hands through liquid sky. She traces idle patterns with it, clouds and raindrops as Nadia shows her appreciation in the sort of moans and sighs that never came so easily to Tamar's lips. When Tamar's patience and the rest of the ink both run low, she outlines the rough sketch of a wing that mirrors the one on her own hip.

"Be still," she warns, as she grips Nadia's hips and lowers her lips to her clit. "The ink has to dry."

Nadia groans in frustration as Tamar finally licks a long stripe up her cunt, and Tamar just smiles. She has all the time in the world.


End file.
